Morning was a good time to visit the plant nursery when the sun was shining and everything had just been watered so that drops caught the light.
"I'm such a black thumb, but I always live in hope." M. held up her thumb which looked perfectly normal and pink.
J. was feeling very wise. "The secret to a green thumb is not in the plant but in the native setting of the plant. If you can duplicate the original setting it was developed in, then you're bound to have success. The problem is figuring out both things: where it came from and what it needs now."
M. lingered over the giant red geraniums. "I usually succeed with these because I don't remember to water plants as often as I should. They need a place in bright light and my consulting office is on the north side of the building, so maybe . . . um . . . cactus?"
"While we're looking, maybe I can ask for advice about my latest new client."
"Sure. Not that different from thinking about help a plant thrive!" They laughed comfortably. They'd known each other a long time. "What does he do?"
"He's a relief from the usual bored woman looking for courage. This one is very complicated. You never know what angle he will come from."
"Do you mean he has a multiple personality?"
"No, it's more like he thinks in genres, like books. Sometimes he's a melodrama, sometimes a comedy. and even a murder mystery."
"I hope he hasn't killed anyone!" J. took hold of a rose to smell it and naturally stabbed the ball of her thumb.
"Well, no. But he's in a setting that's always dangerous and he's known a lot of people who died."
"What does he want out of therapy? Grief counselling?"
"What he says is that he's lonesome. he wants someone to understand him."
"What are worried about for yourself in this dialogue?"
"He's so interesting and resourceful that he could easily seduce me. He tells the most wonderful stories, but most of them are fantasy, impossible, or obviously meant to beguile and mislead me." She laughed.
"You don't really mean sex, do you? You know how easy it for therapists to get drawn into intimacy?"
"No, no, no! But there are many kinds of intimacy besides sex. It's more like being enchanted or in a movie, but as a critic as well. I mean, the responsibility of knowing what the lot is about, what the endlessness means."
"So how will you protect yourself?" She examined the hollyhocks. "I've tried to start these -- they're supposed to be weeds or nearly. I must be missing something."
"More water for the hollyhocks. For the client, keep moving. Go on, more more more. The flow can't be endless.
M. shook her head. "In this case, I'm not sure that's the answer. Part of the situation is that this man is gay . . ."
"You've worked with gays before with some success, I think."
"That may be what brought this man in to my consulting room."
The two women had each loaded up cardboard trays with starter plants in 3" pots. M. had an assortment of cactus plants for her south window and J. had petunias, some red and some white. She felt a little sheepish about having such a plebian flower, but they were cheerful and bright. Why be a snob?
They went into the greenhouse and sat on a park bench under a big ficus tree by a recirculating fountain, enjoying old-fashioned glass bottles of Coke in this pleasant faux garden.
"This patient of mine owns a casino. This is entirely foreign to me. I've always opposed and avoided gambling ever since I learned about how easy it is to get hooked for a lot of subtle reasons people don't suspect at first."
"I certainly agree. Is your patient a compulsive gambler?"
"He doesn't seem to be a compulsive anything. But I decided I'd better go see what his casino was like."
"And?"
"It's a gay casino. Very noisy, but cushy with a lot of bright carpet and flashing lights. The theme is being underwater but there are no mermaids. Instead there are mermen with fins and gills. Lots of blue-green waves of light. Fake fish on wires cruising through. A mechanical octopus waving its arms."
"Wow!"
"But there's a very quiet and elegant back room with no faux fiddle-faddle -- just all men, some of them cross-dressed. Sort of European. Sipping drinks from fine crystal. Diamond ear studs. It was the baccarat room."
"I would have been gawking!"
"Yeah, my jaw dropped and then a butler sort of person gently guided me back out. I have never seen such handsome men in one room."
"So why did this casino owner come for consultation? It would seem as though he were rolling in clover. Is he losing money?"
The two women pondered their nearly empty blue-green bottles. The air was warm and moist and soft music played, blending with the patter of the fountain.
"He says he is lonesome."
"Can't find a partner? You'd think there'd be plenty of volunteers."
"He says he can't find anyone who understands him, what he thinks, how he is in some essential way."
"And he expects you to do this?"
"More like he thinks I can explain to him how to find this mythical person. That there's a technique or theory structure."
"So you set about trying to figure him out, so as to tell him what he needs to know, but learning so much about him is seductive."
"That's about it, but the rest is how complex and surprising he is. A punk as a kid, then a religious devotee in the Buddhist tradition, a decade-long partnership with an old artist who had once been famous, and even some time in Africa helping kids."
"Heck, I was going to suggest that last might bring him to reality and get his feet on the ground!" J. made a face.
They put their bottles in the rack and carried their flats of plants to the outdoor marquee where the cash register was jingling. The business of counting and exchanging didn't take long. They headed for the parking lot.
M. reflected, "I think it's possible this man may be incurable. This may be his normal nature, being lonesome. Maybe if I managed to explain him out of it, he would collapse."
"Luckily," J. said drily, "In the meantime he can afford to make a friend of you!" They laughed and slammed the car doors, but immediately rolled down the windows.
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